Neon Signs
by privatepractxce
Summary: Tony and Ziva have been on the road for twelve hours before they eventually end up at a low end motel for the night - sharing a room. What happens when the boundaries of their 'friendship' get slightly blurred? {Oneshot}


An old neon sign dimly glows and gently illuminates the ground below, as the car slowly grinds to a halt. The sign, simply reading 'Motel', is strategically placed so that it can be seen from the highway and passers-by are enticed to pull in. The truth is, not many people do anymore, because even from the distance of the busy road you can tell the motel lacks love. Several windows are haphazardly boarded up and glass bottles roll back and forth across the tarmac in the breeze, it is the kind of place only those looking to hide or escape might find themselves.

Tony had initially protested Ziva's instructions to pull over and take a break, but after she warned him that his choices were either pull over or let her drive for a while, he turned left. Off the interstate and down the uneven road leading to the motel. It had been over twelve hours since they got in the car, so the quiet whirring sound of the engine drifting off was one of comfort. For a few moments, they both just sit in a safe silence; Ziva rests her head against the cold window pane to her right, whilst Tony leans on the steering wheel in-front of him - lightly tapping his fingers to the broken beat in his head. The gentle click of a door handle being opened breaks the silence, as Ziva pushes open her door and pauses for a second, letting the evening breeze drift into the car before stepping out onto the concrete. Tony follows her lead, opening his door and pointing towards the cracked glass pane with another neon sign hanging over it, only this one is smaller, and reads 'Manager'.

It takes several harsh knocks on the glass before a short, balding man appears - sporting sweat marks and a receding hairline that makes Ziva want to step back a few paces. His breath is even worse, the stench of stale cigarette smoke and some kind of chilli, mix in the air when he opens his mouth to speak - creating a nauseatingly vile odour. "Room for two, is it?" he asks, maintaining an almost psychopathic level of eye contact the entire time. Ziva nods and pulls some bills out of her pocket, the man, whose name tag appears to read Doyle, holds a greasy palm out under the hatch. Ziva strategically drops the money into his hand to avoid touching it. Meanwhile Tony moves to lean against the dark brick wall separating the manager's office from the night air, he closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath - failing to notice Ziva watching him from the corner of her eye. Doyle shoves the money in his back pocket and pads across the room, returning with a small key. "402" he says, holding out his hand with the key in it. Tony steps away from the wall and walks in front of Ziva, grabbing the key from Doyle's hand - flashing him a sickly-sweet smile and turning to walk away.

The door to room 402 looks like it was originally supposed to be red, but the paint has faded over time and now it's more of an orange shade - a small heart with an arrow through it has been haphazardly carved just above the door handle, most likely by a teenage couple aching to leave behind an everlasting imprint of their whirlwind love. Tony ignores it, trying desperately not to think about what usually lies behind the motel doors he has to force open. He twists and turns the key in the lock for several minutes before the wooden door clicks and Ziva nudges it open with her foot. Unsurprisingly there's a musty smell and small patches of damp in the corners of the ceiling which Tony and Ziva both take a second to process before they step inside.

Despite the obvious flaws, the room itself isn't too shabby. There are some minor floorboard creaks, the television only has three channels, and Ziva nearly chokes on dust when she goes to pull the curtains closed, but the large double bed is clean, there's a stack of brand new magazines on the arm chair by the window and a shiny coffee maker takes pride of place on the shelf opposite the bed. It might not be a luxury hotel but just for the night it's ideal.

Ziva sits down on the bed, which softly groans under her weight, and begins to unlace her combat boots - whilst Tony disappears into the bathroom to wash his face. When he comes out again Ziva is pulling her hair out of her slicked back ponytail, and then attempts to comb her fingers through the mass of curls that bounce back when freed. She hears the bathroom door close and adjusts herself so she is sitting with one leg on the bed, in an attempt to see Tony. "You look exhausted" she points out. He shrugs and walks towards the other side of the bed.

"I am" he says, "You must be too."

Ziva tilts her head to the side and continues to arrange her natural curls. "Yes, I am too. It has been a long day". The bed groans softly again when Tony lowers himself onto the other side of it, never taking his eyes off Ziva. They continue to the hold eye contact as Tony reaches for the hem of his shirt and slowly pulls it over his head, if he had been on the road with anyone else he would have made sure to get two separate rooms but it's Ziva - they've been through everything together and it's not like there is any need to be embarrassed of his body when he's around her. She's literally seen it all before. Once the shirt is off he throws it onto the chair by the window, noticing how a sliver of light dances through the slit where the curtains don't quite meet to close. Next, he turns away from Ziva and casually undoes his belt, sliding his trousers off and then quickly slipping his lower half under the duvet. As he does he realises that Ziva has also removed her shirt and trousers and is stood in just her underwear facing away from him. Despite everything, Tony feels himself flushing a dark shade of red and quickly looks down at the duvet, inspecting each tiny fibre with a level of diligence even his grey-haired boss would be proud of.

He doesn't look up again until he feels the other side of the duvet lifting. Ziva grins at him when he catches her eye - it takes him a second to realise why. "Hey!" he laughs. "That's one of my shirts - where did you get it?" Ziva winks at him and continues tugging on the duvet.

"I took it out of your bag earlier when we were on the road." She whispers, still grinning.

The worn grey shirt is an old Ohio State one from Tony's time at college, and somehow it manages to look ten times better on Ziva than it ever did on him. The somewhat frayed hem grazes the top of her thighs and the scooped neck reveals her prized Star Of David necklace - Ziva is aware that Tony is staring but it doesn't bother her. Despite the fact neither of them have ever explicitly stated it, Ziva is aware that their friendship is largely unconventional, and that to anyone looking in from an outside perspective the boundaries between the two of them would probably appear blurred. As far as Ziva is concerned, other people can think whatever they want, her life is hers, and hers alone. So she will do as she pleases - if she wanted to spend a life being told what she could and couldn't do she would simply have stayed in Israel with her father.

Gracefully she slips into the bed, next to Tony. She is painfully aware of his chest slowly moving up and down as he breathes and tries to put it out of her mind as they both lie on their backs, staring at the ceiling. After a few moments, Ziva leans over the edge of the bed and switches off the lamp that is providing a harsh yellow streak of light that bounces off the walls. The dark comforts her, despite all the bad memories she associates with it, it still manages to feel like a cocoon of safety - engulfing her and allowing her to loosen her tight grip on life for a while. Silence, however, still manages to unnerve her sometimes. "Tony" she murmurs.

"Still awake." He says, shifting his weight so that he is closer to her.

"I'm tired but I can't seem to sleep." She says, sighing. Her statement lingers in the air as the minutes pass, she can still hear Tony's breathing but he says nothing. Instead of bothering him, Ziva rolls over so that she is facing the window and her back is to him, then she closes her eyes and attempts to fall asleep, again. Just as she thinks she might be drifting off she feels a hand on her hip.

Her natural reflexes take over and in a split second she hits the warm body behind her with brutal force before scrambling to sit upright. Immediately Ziva hears a low groan and a wince, it takes her a moment to regain her train of thought and realise what's just happened. "I am... I..." She starts.

"It's okay Ziva." Tony says, wincing slightly again. "I don't know why I did that... I shouldn't have".

"I did not mean to hurt you, it was a reflex." She gabbles. "Mossad training never really leaves a person... are you injured?" Tony shakes his head, still lying down, attempting to regain his regular breathing pattern after the blow to the abdomen, but Ziva can't see him in the dark. She reaches over and switches the lamp back on. "Let me look Tony." she says, as she kneels up and leans over him, in the light she can see the remnants of pain etched on his face. His lips are tightly pressed shut and he's squinting, "I hit you hard." This time she is the one who shakes her head, cursing herself for her annoyingly sharp reflexes. Carefully she peels the duvet away from him, he tries to protest but she looks him straight in the eyes and he quickly takes the hint. The odd nature of the situation does nothing to help diffuse the tension that has formed in the atmosphere. Tony's breathing hitches as Ziva rubs his abdomen. "Does this hurt?" She asks. Tony stares blankly at her. "Tony..." She prompts.

"Oh, um... no. I'm fine." He reassures her. Gradually she removes her hand from his abdomen but stays knelt next to him on the bed. "Really I am okay Ziva", he whispers, propping himself up on his elbows. He smiles at her, to let her know that he has forgiven her. "It will make a great story in the future though." He chuckles. Ziva rolls her eyes and lies back down, once again rolling over to face the window. Only this time she waits a few seconds before tentatively moving back until she feels her skin make contact with Tony's. "Ziva" He whispers but she gently shushes him before reaching back for his arm and placing it over her.

"Goodnight Tony." She whispers, gently pushing her body against his.


End file.
